Love Me Like You Do
by AWanderingSoulSometimesLost
Summary: "Every time I think I have figured you out, you surprise me yet again." "Well, that's why you love me, isn't it?" Pre-Thor. Sif/Loki. I don't own anything.


**For my Sifki shipping heart (because there is only as much Sifki angst a Sifki shipper can take).**

 **Title: as obvious as it gets, really.**

 **Rated M for language and some smutty stuff.**

 **I'm sorry for any grammar or spelling mistake.**

 **Enjoy :)**

"Can I have this dance, Lady Sif?"

She looks up to see a handsome young man offering her his hand.

His hair is the colour of chocolate, its locks brushing against his cheeks as he bows his head in respect. When he raises it again, a warm smile plays on his lips, his teeth as white as the snow outside. His dark blue suit completed with a few silver details – it clearly gives away he is a man in possession of quite a fortune – brings out the enticing azure of his eyes. They look directly at her, with confidence of a man whom charming ladies comes as easily as breathing.

She can't help it but to feel _a little_ flattered by the fact he has asked her for a dance when there are countless other ladies who would have gladly accepted his invitation in the room. It seems her efforts to get through the night wearing a dress and unbelievingly uncomfortable shoes have not been in vain.

It is not the kind of clothes she usually wears, but tonight is an exception. It is Frigga's name-day and Sif holds the Queen in the highest regard – she will put up with any discomfort sent her way to ensure tonight will go flawlessly. No man would have been worthy of it – or so she keeps telling herself.

Since dancing is as good of a way to entertain herself as any other, she might as well enjoy herself a bit.

"I'd be honoured." She accepts his hand and lets him lead her among other dancing couples.

When they are set – one of her hands in his, her other on his shoulder, his other on her back – they start spinning around slowly in the rhythm of music. She meets his eyes and smiles, revelling in admiration she finds there.

"You obviously know my name." She says, curious as to what could have caused such astonishment when she can't even remember whether she has ever met him. "But I do not know yours."

He raises his hand and she twirls under it.

"I apologize for my lack of manners, Lady Sif." He says when they face each other again. "It has completely slipped my mind. My name is Calder."

The name doesn't ring a bell, but she offers him a wide smile, as if they are old friends.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Calder."

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you."

She chuckles lightly under her breath. She is not completely immune to flattering, of course, but a lot more than any lady he has ever had dealings with. She knows almost every trick men hide in their sleeves, for she has learned from master of the craft.

He puts his hands on her hips and lifts her in the air as if she is as light as a feather. She thinks about glancing around the room, to check whether _he_ has arrived, but Calder's smile is so hypnotizing she can't separate her eyes from him. A second later, her flight is over and other couples are blocking her sight.

Only a few moments after her feet touch the ground again, music stops and she hears that a toast is about to be made.

Her eyes find Calder's, who looks disappointed that their time together is over so soon. Maybe she has misjudged him and his affections are real enough. Her hands are still in his and he hesitates to let them go.

"Could I have another dance later?" He asks as people around them start moving back to their sitting places.

"Ahm…" So much of her conversational skills.

She can't promise him that. As much as she has enjoyed his company, it is not his arms she wants to spend the night in. Not to mention her secret lover isn't really good at sharing.

"I have to go." She rouses her hands out of his and runs for the table where Warriors Three are already sitting, casting amused glances in her direction.

"The lad seems completely smitten." Volstagg grins when she joins them. "It appears there are some unknown talents to our Lady Sif we haven't had a chance to see yet."

"Be silent, Volstagg." She snarls, losing control over herself momentarily. "It was just a dance."

"My dear lady, I think he wishes for a little more than one dance from you." Fandral winks at her, a sure way to annoy her. "But we can't all get what we want, can we?"

For a moment, she struggles to take a breath.

Do they know?

But when Fandral doesn't push the subject, she knows her secret is safe and lets out a sigh of relief. Like the man whose bed she has been sharing for the last five months, she is not very good at sharing. Her own secrets least of all.

"Tonight," She turns around and fixes her eyes on the All-Father, who has just begun the toast. "We celebrate yet another name-day of my beloved wife Frigga."

Applause spreads though the hall immediately, Sif joining it with joy and relief her thoughts are distracted for the time being. Frigga is the wisest and most caring person she has ever met. Asgard, its king, its princes, its subjects, the Nine Realms – they are all immensely lucky to have her, even if they have never spoken a word with her – an honour Sif has received quite a few times over the years and is very proud of.

"I would tell you how many she has had until now, but you would probably wake up tomorrow without a king if I did that." Odin smiles at his wife, who returns it endearingly. The hall echoes with joyful laughter, nobody taking Odin's words seriously, but for once, the All-Father doesn't mind.

"To my lovely wife," He raises his goblet, "May she live for many more years, may she watch over us all and keep sharing her infinite love and wisdom with us."

"To Queen Frigga!" The call echoes the room.

Everyone follows Odin's lead, raising their goblets and drinking in Frigga's health.

Sif sneaks a peak over the edge of her goblet. She watches as Odin kisses his wife's cheek, before Frigga turns towards Thor and receives another affectionate peck on the cheek from her eldest.

Last year at this time, the thought that she never had and probably never would receive such a sign of love from Thor brought tears to Sif's eyes. All the long years she has known him, he has always failed to see what was right in front of his eyes. The affections she held for him, for example.

Tonight, her interest lies elsewhere. Her eyes search for the one who is still missing.

Where is he? Why hasn't he arrived yet?

As occupied with her thoughts as she is, she doesn't even notice Odin has sat down and Frigga is the one who is on her feet now until the Queen speaks, snapping the shieldmaiden out of her musings.

"Thank you all for being here." Frigga's smile lightens up every face in the room. "I know it is my name-day we celebrate, but I have a gift for you too."

Sif is as surprised as everyone else in the room. Even Thor and Odin seem to have been left in ignorance.

Frigga's blue eyes shine impishly as she takes in curious wonder her words have caused.

"My son Loki and I have been working on a special potion lately." Is it just Sif's imagination or have Frigga's eyes lingered on her a moment longer than on any other person in the room? "You could say it is a love potion, like the ones you have read about in the fairy-tales. For better or worse, this potion doesn't have power to actually create _love_ , nor does its power last very long. It creates an illusion in the mind of a person it has been given to, making another person more beautiful, in every sense, in their eyes."

The room has gone so silent Sif can hear her own heartbeat. It seems strange Frigga has given her approval to making such a potion, knowing the consequences of its use would be potentially catastrophic if given to the wrong people by other wrong people. Then again, nobody would be happier than the Queen if there was a little bit more love in the Realms. And even if something went wrong, the Queen said it herself – its power wouldn't last forever.

Frigga's next words prove her thoughts right.

"There is only one vial of the potion." Her tone is still calm, but now there is more seriousness to it. Everyone can sense the meaning behind her words. She wouldn't allow Asgard to be endangered because of wrongly directed affections. "I hope that whoever wins it tonight will understand that a few stolen hours it can provide are not worth ruining someone's marriage. It was created as a way for those less confident to approach the person they fancy. As there are lots of young, unmarried, people here tonight, I hope this gift of mine will be put to a good use."

Sif senses someone elbowing her, not very gently. She turns around, finding smirks on her friends' faces already at full disposal.

"I'd be very careful about what I was drinking if I were you." Fandral whispers playfully. "One never knows what young bewitched fellows are ready to do in order to capture a woman's attention."

"You are impossible!" She hisses in irritation. Before she realizes what she is doing, her foot is kicking Fandral's shin under the table.

Fandral whimpers in pain through his teeth. She smirks at him for a moment, before fixing her eyes on Frigga again.

"So, all that is left for me to say is how you can win the prize." The Queen's tone is playful once again, as if she is watching a children's game.

But before she can continue, the door on the other side of the hall opens widely. Forgetting momentarily about Frigga, every pair of eyes immediately focuses on them, as if driven by a spell.

Sif's breath is caught in her throat as she recognizes the newcomer.

As usually, Loki is dressed in black and emerald green and, as usually, it suits him perfectly. There is lazy confidence in his posture; he is obviously not in a hurry, even though he is being late. His lips are shaping a knowing smirk, as if the joke is on them all, only they don't know it yet.

For the briefest of moments, his emerald eyes meet hers. His smirk widens a bit, though rare people are able to notice it. But she is one of those who can and she knows what it means.

He is planning a mischief. And it won't end well for her.

"Loki, just in time." Frigga breaks the awe Loki's arrival has caused.

"You know punctuality is one of my rare virtues." Loki bows his head in her direction. "Happy birthday, Mother."

"Thank you." She smiles adoringly at her younger son. "Do you have the vial with you?"

"No." He shakes his head. "But I'm sure I will bring it with me eventually."

Sif frowns in confusion and so do everyone else in the room, except for Loki and Frigga. What does he mean? Isn't he supposed to…

"Good evening, everyone." All eyes turn to the door once again, where they find Loki leaning on a doorpost as if he is bored. "I hope you are having fun."

He enters the chamber and moves to stand next to the first Loki. Not a moment after, another Loki appears at the door. Then another one. Then two more. Then five more. Then se-, no, eight more. Then she loses count of them.

In a matter of minutes, the hall is filled with Loki's, all wearing identical clothes and smirks on their faces. Sif tries her best to recognize the real one, but there are too many of them, and even if there weren't, they all look _exactly_ the same. She can't tell the difference and it irritates her. She _should_ be able to do that, shouldn't she?

"Now that _everyone_ is here," She chooses to focus on Frigga instead on the bunch of Loki's, "We can begin. As you can see, there are few dozens of my sons before you, but only one of them is real. When the clock strikes at midnight, all the magical doppelgangers will disappear, leaving only the real one. Whoever has the luck of finding themselves in a conversation with the real Loki at that moment wins the prize."

For a moment, everyone stare at her somewhat sceptically. Then, a few young girls rise from their seats and head for the group of Loki's, giggling amongst themselves. Each picks her own Loki and curtsies in front of him. Loki's bow their heads respectfully, before offering them their arms. Three pairs start dancing, two engage in a conversation and one pair has returned to the table the girls had been sitting at, Loki already pouring the lady a goblet of wine.

When the tension in the room is broken, men and women follow the girls' example and find themselves their own Loki. Soon, every Loki is taken.

Sif sits on her chair, still as a statue on the outside, fury boiling in her veins on the inside.

The real Loki is here somewhere. Men talking to him she can handle, even though they steal his attention nonetheless. But seeing his doppelgangers – when there is equal chance of each of them being the real one – smiling seductively at other women, as if they share a secret nobody else knows, makes her physically ill. He touches them, whispers sweet-nothings in their ears, makes them blush.

And he knows she is watching – there is a glimpse of a smirk in the corner of every Loki's lips, visible only to those who know where to look. She wants to spill crimson all over the room – and then she wants to slap herself because she should not care – but for once Fandral's babbling proves to be a welcomed distraction.

"Well, I'm in no need for a love potion." He says as he gets to his feet. "Let's hope there are few others whose beauty can also afford them to spend this evening playing some different kind of games."

It takes only a minute for him to charm a young blonde woman into joining him for a drink. Sif snorts. What do women see in Fandral? Fine, he _is_ good-looking and a decent fighter, but his inability of holding his tongue can be incredibly irritating. In Sif's opinion, no woman should be able to handle that much empty flattering without going mad, but it seems ladies of the court have selective sense of hearing.

Right now, she wishes she possesses it too, because she is suffocating in Loki's chuckles that are not meant for her ears, touches that are not meant for her skin. She tries to ignore them, but there are too many of him around her and she cannot escape them.

In a second, she is on her feet too, heading for the exit, ignoring surprised calls of her name behind her back. Loki's voice still echoes in her ears, even when the door closes behind her back.

Corridors seem to go on forever, but she doesn't stop for a moment. She has no idea where she is going, but neither does she care. As long as it is far away from that feast, it suits her needs perfectly.

She turns to the left and catches her breath. She recognizes this corridor, the door at its end.

Loki's chambers – of all places her wanderings could have led her to.

"Looking for something?"

She turns abruptly, only to find Loki – or one of his countless doppelgangers – leaned on the wall lazily, but with a mischievous glint in his emerald eyes.

"No." She finds it hard to draw a breath. She is not jealous. She. Is. Not. Jealousy would imply _feelings_. And there can be no feelings in this affair – that is the deal they have made. She will not be the one who breaks it – at least not first. "Just … getting some fresh air."

He raises a dark, thin eyebrow.

"Really?" He makes a step closer to her. It takes all of her self-control not to back away. "You seem rather breathless."

"I…" It is hard to think of a proper answer when those eyes are staring at her like they are devouring her soul, uncovering all she wants to keep hidden. But there is another hunger in them – she can feel it wash over her, embedding itself in her skin – and she suddenly aches for his touch, desperate for his lips on hers.

"Why have you run away?" He is leaning over her, his breath mixing with hers, but he does not touch her. "You have no man you crave, but cannot have, Lady Sif?"

She is unable to stop her gaze from falling onto his lips, even though she knows he is watching. Hitch of her breath makes corners of his lips quirk up. Oh, does she crave those lips on her skin, does she crave _him_.

"Or is it jealousy that has driven you away?" His hand reaches for her chest, but only slightly brushes against her left breast before resting on the spot where he can sense her heart pound wildly. Her dress is low-cut, giving easy access to his fingertips. "Your heart betrays you, my lady."

"My heart has no place in this." She says defiantly. This is strictly pleasure, with no strings attached.

He chuckles in amusement.

She inhales sharply when his hand moves onto her hardened nipple. His fingers circle around it, pinching and massaging under the fabric. Her head shots backwards, her breathing so heavy she can't utter a word, only relish in warmth that spreads through her body, mainly the lower part of her belly.

"Out of curiosity," His voice sounds like coming from a great distance, "Which one of me would you have picked for yourself?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Loki." She knows she shouldn't succumb to him, but lust sings in her blood and it has no patience for her pride. "I would never have settled for anything less than the original."

His response is immediate and swift, like a serpent seizing its prey. Her back hit the wall, sending a shot of pain up her spine, but she has no time to protest, for Loki's hands press her arms in between her body and the wall. His body is pressed so tightly against hers it seems only a matter of time before they merge together into one.

"And why makes you think," His breathing is wild, as is hers, and his eyes are dark, closer to black than to green, "This is the original?"

"Well, finding out shouldn't be _too_ difficult." Her lips brush against his teasingly, but she manages to resist the temptation. For now. "All I need to do is to find out if you have the vial."

He backs away slightly, his hands leaving her wrists to press lightly into her hips. His thumbs start drawing lines down to her waistband; she can feel her skin filling with goose bumps under his fingertips and struggles to stay focused on his words.

"And how do you plan on accomplishing that?"

"Well, if you refuse to cooperate…" She draws a deep breath as his fingers find his way between her thighs, her body pressing instinctively against them. "I might have to strip you of _every_ piece of clothing until I find out."

He smirks mischievously, as if he has won the game, and then his tongue catches a taste – so much, yet so insufficient – of her lips.

"Be my guest."

She would tear his clothes apart right there and then, but that would mean surrendering pathetically easily. He deserves to suffer in revenge for taunting her, first with his little doppelganger game and now with refusing to satisfy her needs – needs only _he_ knows _exactly_ how to satisfy.

"I have not drunk that love potion." She remarks ironically. "You will have to try a little harder."

Hitch of his breath makes her smirk. He wants her as badly as she wants him, but none of them will give in easily. This is what makes the game fun – watching the other break slowly under the weight of their desires, slowly falling prey to their lust for the other. The only question is who is going to break first.

But there is no witty reply to her words, no quirky remarks he is famous for. Lust isn't gone from his eyes, but is now mixed with something that nearly resembles curiosity.

"If you – and we are speaking theoretically here – if you won the love potion," For a moment, he struggles with himself whether to speak or not, but eventually, like always, curiosity wins. "Would you use it?"

She is taken aback by his question. She hasn't even thought about the possibility of winning the love potion. To her, it is just an excuse for Loki to taunt her, because he knows nothing fuels her lust better than anger. How many times has she come to him to have vengeance for a joke at her expense, only to end up in his bed, naked and wet for him to take as he pleased? Not that he is any better, because his desire for her is never stronger than after seeing her in company of another man. They both dismiss each other's accusations of jealousy with ease, but their kisses are always possessive, greedy, selfish.

They do not give. They only take.

"No, I would not." She answers truthfully.

He seems surprised.

"Why not?" He asks, mockery sneaking into his tone to mask the surprise. "You could have any man, even the crown prince, fulfilling your every whim for a few hours. Does it not tempt you in the slightest?"

She thinks about his question for a few moments and finds that it truly does not. Why would she want Thor, who would forsake her in favour of other women simply because he could? Why, when she has a man who uses other women as means to bring _her_ into his bed, knowing she will always come, knowing he will always wait?

"I don't need a love potion." She purrs seductively, freeing her right hand to play with collars of his shirt. "I already have a man ready to fulfil my every whim, don't I?"

Her hand leaves his shirt in favour of his cheek. Instinctively, he leans into her touch and closes his eyes, enjoying her gentle caresses. His expression softens and he looks like he has fallen asleep.

Her breathing falters as she comes to realize how much the sight fascinates her. She knows what he is like in bed, but not what he looks like when he is asleep. They always run away back to their rooms the moment fucking is done. She always wakes up alone, cold in the lack of fire he has blazed up within her the night before. Sometimes, at her weakest, she even admits to herself that she would rather wake up in his bed, in his arms. But she knows it can never happen. No feelings involved – she is the one who asked for it and he is the one who agreed.

She will stick to her choice, but with each day that passes, she has less and less heart to do it.

 _Your heart, Lady Sif?_ A voice in her head, so similar to Loki's she has to check whether he has actually spoken, wonders mockingly. _You have said yourself not a minute ago your heart has no place in this._

"What troubles your mind?" Her eyes focus on Loki's, which are now opened again, but there is no trace of mockery or irony in them.

"I have never seen you asleep." She blurts out, wanting to smack herself a moment after. He will make fun of her or, even worse, he will think there is more to their affair than there truly is.

He is caught off guard by her answer; that much is clear.

"I…" She cannot believe he is stuttering, for Loki is _never_ left speechless.

"Forget it." She says immediately, forcing a seductive smile on her lips. "We don't have much time."

She can still sense the hesitation on his lips, but doesn't give him a chance to voice it. Her tongue enters his mouth instantly, forcing his to battle it as if they are sworn enemies. Her fingers find their way into his hair, grabbing locks, pressing against his scalp. Surrendering, his arms encircle her body, pulling her closer until she can feel his torso against hers, his heartbeat in harmony with her own.

He is the one who breaks the kiss in favour of stroking her neck with his lips. She moans softly as her breathing falters, her heartbeat speeds up and her knees weaken. Her eyes close in ecstasy, fluttering under her eyelids. His kisses intensify the further he goes – down her neck, over her collarbone, between her breasts – more demanding, more gluttonous.

"Loki…" She breathes, feeling her arousal dampening her underwear. "Loki, please… I need…"

Suddenly, his lips stop kissing her. His hands stop touching her. As if he has vanished into thin air.

She opens her eyes. He is still there, lust still darkening his eyes, but with a stubborn expression on his handsome face. She can't fathom what is wrong, so she just stands there, half-worried – half-frustrated, waiting for his explanation.

"You need to make up your mind, my lady," He says finally, sounding just as frustrated as she feels, "About what this agreement of ours means to you."

She is taken aback by his directness and furious with herself for being so transparent.

"It means what has always meant." She replies, trying her best to sound indifferent. "Why do you ask me that _now_?"

"Why?" He raises his eyebrows mockingly. "You have something better to do? Besides fucking me?"

"As I recall, you have never complained about that hobby of mine."

"Nor do I intend to." He grins mischievously, but then his eyes narrow. "But I can't help myself but to wonder if it has become something more than a hobby to you."

She feels walls of coldness rising around her, a protection against his clairvoyance.

"What do you mean?"

He closes the distance between them again. This time, it is intimidating rather than exciting, but she stands her ground.

"Jealousy of other women, telling me you have never seen me asleep as if it is something that matters." He explains, his gaze piercing as a blade. "Something tells me you think of me as of something that belongs to you, Lady Sif."

"I don't." She counters immediately. "You are free to do as you please."

 _As long as you share my bed occasionally and pleasure me until I can't breathe._

"As long as pleasuring you pleases me, you mean." He smirks sarcastically. His hand touches her cheek gently, his thumb moving to rest on the corner of her lips. "It does please me greatly, but it might stop if it starts to feel like an obligation rather than leisure."

"If you have grown tired of fucking me, be a man and say so." She snaps, annoyed by how close he is to the truth. She has no right to him. If he fucks dozen servant-girls when he is not with her, there is nothing she can do about it, no matter how much she wants him to be hers and hers alone. "Don't make it sound like I have done anything contrary to our agreement."

"Oh, if only I could grow tired of fucking you." He licks his lips in that maddening way that makes her want to kiss him and kill him at the same time. "Every time I think I have figured you out, you surprise me yet again."

His puns with double meanings infuriate her. But, during their affair, she has learned.

Two can play the game.

"Well, that's why you love me, isn't it?"

For a moment, his mask cracks and she catches a glimpse of doubt, mixed with a bit of curiosity, in his eyes.

She doesn't fool herself. She is aware he doesn't love her.

What they have, it is not love.

It is impatient. It is rough. It is proud. It is rude. It is selfish. It is vengeful.

It gives nothing. It takes all.

But, she has spent years giving her love to a man who wouldn't take it, so sometimes she thinks this is the only way she wants to be loved.

And there is only one who would ever agree to love her that way.

"Well, if _this_ ," He gestures to between them, smirking slyly, as if he knows her thoughts. "If this is love…"

He puts his hands on her back and pulls her closer. She doesn't – can't – resist.

"I will love you with my body…,"

He places a kiss on her lips.

"…mind…"

His hands cup her cheeks and he places a kiss on her forehead.

"…and soul…"

He bows down and places a kiss on her heart.

…until my dying breath."

She waits for him to stand up straight, before taking his hands into hers and putting them on her hips. His love is what she is owed; his love is what she will collect.

"So what are you waiting for?"


End file.
